


Five years later

by Cosmic_Iguana



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Arguing, Choking, F/M, Fear, Friendship, Guess who comes back from the dead, I just wanted to explore a scene like this, Other, Reunions, The veil gets torn down, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, abuse - not intentional, reunions but it isn't feeling so good, this is a one shot, those are very briefly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28602795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Iguana/pseuds/Cosmic_Iguana
Summary: It has been five years since Fenris lost the love of his life. Five years and his sorrow hasn't dulled, hasn't wavered. But he's got a duty now, a stake in the world altering events that will shake Thedas for ages to come. And it's brought him to the place he once called home. Now, working with the woman who sent his beloved to die; Fenris finds companionship in new faces and old ones, and bears the weight of the hopes and futures of the liberated slaves of Tevinter.Yet, the Dread Wolf persists. And the Veil is no more. And an old face returns from the dead...
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke, Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age), fenhawke
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Five years later

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos would be appreciated! Especially if you want me to do more chapters! Let me know! This idea has been bouncing around in my head for a while and I'm so relieved to finally put it to AO3! 
> 
> I've been dying to add Dragon Age to the list of fandom I write for, especially since Dragon Age II is one of my all time favourite games and is a massive guilty pleasure of mine. So this was a lot of fun to write!
> 
> Thank you for clicking and I hope you enjoy! xxx

It began with a rupture in the ground.

In an instant it dawned on them what had happened, what they had failed to prevent. As the very floor seemed to awaken in a tantrumatic fit those quick enough managed to duck under tables and cover their heads. Those less fortunate were buried beneath towering bookcases, relics spear-heading into their skulls, and a few were caught under the chandelier at the centre of the room that collapsed like a glittering guillotine. 

The Veil had been torn down.

He had gathered all the liberated slaves in one place at the behest of Inquisitor Lavellan and Dorian Pavus. Regaling them with a haphazard speech, telling them of Inquisitor Lavellan’s plan to thwart the Dread Wolf. Fifty or more surrounded the hall, looking up at Fenris wistfully as he spoke. They were hardly an army, some looked barely strong enough to hold an axe but their spirits were there. They wanted to fight back and Fenris could work with that.

They were to drive the elven forces away while she talked to him, collecting them like fish in a net in the centre of the city to enable Lavellan some time to negotiate with the man known as Solas. Carve the path so if things went wrong, she and her companions could run to safety through all the infighting. She was going to talk him down, a plan so foolish and naive to him that he wondered if the Inquisitor got her strategies from a children's book.

He was adamant about doing literally anything else. A plan so severely demented could not be allowed to continue when all their fates hung in the balance by a mere thread. But Varric said if anyone could talk this powerful ancient elf down it was her. He trusted his friend. Trusted him to know that the woman leading them, the woman who sent his beloved to die in the fade, would save them all.

This was the price of that trust.

Fenris instinctively held one hand over his head, the other was secured over the back of Varric’s as the two men remained under the table. When Fenris felt Varric rearing to go, desperate to grab whoever he could before some ungodly large furniture killed them, Fenris grappled his jacket and fixed him place. 

The sounds were monstrous. A culmination of rock grinding against rock, the ground opening up and innocents being swallowed in the aftermath of the cracking earth. The tearing of people’s throats as their screams ripped through the air. Fenris’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to ignore the sounds, driving all his focus onto keeping his and Varric’s heads down till the quakes ceased.

_ If they were to cease. _

Fenris tried to look past all the chaos, searching for signs of other survivors. If the Inquisitor’s allies had made it to cover, if the slaves had furrowed into safety. He even searched for Anders. Yet he saw nothing but the crumbling of ivory stone, the ceiling removed bearing a green-tinged sky...

Another sound bounded onto the scene, a warping followed by a terrifying scream of an agonised creature of immeasurable size. Then the clashing of steel, the whizzing of terrific spells firing into the air. Though Fenris tried to peek through his eyelids, dust came crashing down as rubble descended and cracked. Rendering him unable to see what the commotion was as he kept protecting his head.

Had the demons passed through already? They didn’t even have a chance to prepare for a contingency plan should the worst occur! The Inquisitor seemed so sure of herself, it didn’t seem wise from the get go yet she _insisted. _And who could prepare for devastation of this size? Lavellan carried herself with endless confidence...it was all just bravado in the end. She couldn’t stop Solas. And had somehow accelerated the coming end before they could even get into position.__

____

____

He knew they shouldn’t have let her go. The way she spoke about him, not as a madman but as someone dear...she was too weak to resist him in the end….was she dead? Even with all her companions, **he was a god. **Or was this her plan all along….****

********

********

The vibrations finally started to calm down, but the fighting was still raging on. 

“C’mon you six-five... _ I can never remember how many legs spiders _ - **However fucking many legs you have! Come at me you shit-slinger! C’mon!”**

He looked up. Frozen. Feeling Varric’s entire body tense behind him in the same way at the voice. 

_ It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be…. _

“Veils down, elf! We don’t know...I saw her- **that can’t be her,** ” Varric says to him, voice rushed and shaking against his rattled nerves. Yet, Varric didn’t sound sure himself. He then grabs Fenris by his armour, pinning him in place as he feared he might run out. “How could it be her?!”

His words pierced his urge to run out and see for himself. What he had just heard could only be a demon, praying on his innermost thoughts. He knew that feeling well, with Feynriel in Kirkwall. With the veil down the world had to be swarming with them, clustering like flies on rotten fruit. But that unease in Varric’s voice...it became apparent that in that exact moment, neither him nor the dwarf believed those words. Was it desperation? Had five years not been enough for either of them to believe Hawke’s demise? Had it not been long enough to dull down the vain hope of seeing her again. To whittle away at his habits; asking if she wanted her cloak, watching the door to see her wander in with that crooked smile or find her waiting in bed for him.

To disregard the inane possibility that she could have somehow fled the fade...

_ Veils down.  _ Fenris and Varric simultaneously look at each other, processing the same words in their heads. Staring in horror at first then with something much more lively. As if a spark had ignited within them. 

_ She wouldn’t need to escape the Fade if there was no Veil pushing her back from reality. _

They barrel out from under the table, relying on luck alone to spare them from the crushing death of a falling rock or cupboard. Heaving chests convulse with fear as Fenris searches the hall for her.

The scene before them was unrecognisable from the one just a few minutes ago. The densely lit, grand hall had transformed into a crumbling ruin. The ceiling that once held a magnificent Tevinter chandelier had wasted away revealing a green sky thrumming with magic. At the centre, where denizens of slaves once stood, there is only a hulking sack of flesh in the form of…

He feels rusted chains biting his skin and cold cobblestone that aches his bones. He sees nothing but the dark and the sounds of mice scattering. A shadowy figure looming in the doorway to his room, blurred by the light the emits from behind. And suddenly he hears chilled whispers.  **_“Thought you could run forever?”_ ** in his head, as though fingers were snaking their way into his mind and ripping him apart.  _ He knows those fingers, felt them travel all over him before…. _

“Fenris it’s not real!” Varric’s got a hold of his arm, pulling desperately. Fenris rips from his grip and drives all his focus into unleashing his sword. His chest begins to tighten and breathing becomes too great an effort.  _ He will not go back, he will not go back, he’d sooner die. _

**_“The chains are broken, but are you truly free?”_ **

“It’s a fear demon! Do not let it get to you!” It’s another voice, one that starts to become distorted. A lilt that is familiar to his ears at first, but quickly delves into a voice that makes Fenris want to scream.

**_“My little, dear wolf…”_ **

He holds his head in his heads, his sword clattering on the floor. Hopelessness ebbs away at him, draining him.Then Fenris whips his eyes towards the centre of the hall again. Expecting Danarius.

There’s a flash of silver armour. And suddenly the knotting of Fenris’s chest stops. Unwinds till he can finally breathe again. All those sensations that fogged his mind depart in a flash, faded as if they had never dogged him in the first place.

The world clarifies like sunlight parting a cloudy skin. The creature that prayed upon him screeches with such intensity it sends all those watching nearby recoiling. It twitches, flinches and shudders. Backing away from something helplessly….

A woman comes to the fore. Her metal boots scrape against the stone as she runs to deliver another blow. A surging orb of fire that delves from a wonky staff, pirouetting into a blazing, thunderous spectacle quickly gauging at Fenris’s visions and worst fears. It’s as though the fire is burning a painting, the canvas crumpling into nothingness and the frame of reality is laid bare.

And when it’s completely gone. She’s left leaning on her bent staff, out of breath and out of her element. Her hazel eyes gaze around, drooping with exhaustion. Nearby passerbys look at her with pure bewilderment, pure amazement. One of the surviving slaves inches towards her carefully before Fenris can muster the courage to move.

That cheery grin tugs her face as she breathlessly points at the slave. Heaving with great effort as her words filter out hoarse and tiredly. “Man...you won’t believe this...b-but I just killed  _ the biggest fucking spider,” _ She extends her arms, trying to allude to the size of the creature as if no one had just witnessed her battle.

“Hawke!” He tries to shout but it’s only a whisper. His throat tremors in disbelief, in wanting and in agony. He wills her to turn around because he can’t move an inch. The breath from his lungs and the heat from his skin stolen.

She moves to look at him. Green and hazel eyes meet again for the first time after five years. And his began to water. Hawke hasn’t changed at all, not one bit. Her ebony hair is the same length as the very last time he saw her; chopped to her shoulders and brushed behind her ears. Her face isn’t webbed by the wrinkles that would signify her age as they have begun to with him.

Her armour is the same, her scars still the very same as they were five years ago. In fact, the more he loses himself in taking her in with his eyes, he sees a scar on her right cheek. Tacky with dried blood _. The scar she got from a bar fight two days before she left him. _

Fenris waits for her to recognise him. The way her smile softens steals his breath and suddenly his defences wilter like paper. There’s no room for doubt, denying that it’s her would be insane. He’s committed the way that smile of hers creases her skin in ways no demon could ever replicate in his mind.

_ She’s alive. She’s returned to him. _

As Fenris continues to wait for Hawke’s face to flicker in realization. Her face suddenly falls, collapses like she’s been struck. And after one step she collapses on the ground.

“Hawke!” 

\---------

A brothel happens to be the only structure left standing in the aftermath. Those who did not die in the hall’s destruction gathered there; lighting candles and setting them up throughout the building, and paving the way for any lost survivors by igniting a path throughout what was left of Minrathous’s streets. Everyone made use of the dozens of rooms throughout the complex, some survivors who were obviously familiar with the premise helped uncover supplies such as food, blankets and new clothes. 

They were given their room. For now, they were safe. For now the new world they found themselves could be kept at bay, at least until dawn. 

Anders finishes up. He waves his fingers over Hawke’s form and bright blue magic is absorbed into her flesh. She stirs here and there, fingers clutching the bed covers for which she lays upon.

Fenris is at her side. Holding her hand close to his face as he watches anxiously for any hint of worry on Anders’s face as he heals her. Seeing if the mage comes to the conclusion that there’s nothing more to be done to save her. His face remains stoic however, lost in focus.

But then his face suddenly frowns underneath his beard. Gritting his teeth, he turns around snappily. “Varric, stop pacing!”

The dwarf stops and gives Anders a look of outrage. “Blondie, just work your healing sparkles on her alright? What me and my legs do don’t concern you,”

“You’re putting me off!” 

Fenris looks up. Disappointed he had to take the role of mediator. “Maybe if you told us how she’s doing it would ease some of our minds,” He tries to compromise.

Anders sighs as Varric flings his arms up in agreement. Huffing as if someone had  _ finally said the obvious.  _ “She’ll recover, at least enough that she should awaken soon. I’m confident in my magic. I’m more worried about her state of mind,”

“Worried about Hawke’s state of mind?  _ Psh, _ who isn’t,” Varric chides in naturally before flinching. Fenris can see the inner machinations of the rogue’s mind whir as he internally scolds himself for making a quip at this time. “Just...what’s got you concerned? Anything we can do?”

Anders looks at Fenris. “You said she looks exactly as she did the day she left?”

Fenris looks at Hawke. There was no mistaking it; five years had not waned on her like the passage of time had on him. When he saw standing out there he couldn’t bring himself to believe it was really her. This was the Hawke who haunted his dreams, the last view he ever had of her. And yet...her hand was intertwined with his. He can feel her warmth emanating from her as he holds it close to his cheek.

“Exactly,”

“I know neither of you are...what’s the nicest way I can say this? Umm... _ magical experts.  _ Not unless it comes to hunting mages that is...” He can’t help himself, he gives him a pointed look but Fenris chooses to ignore it. He’s too tired, too wrapped up in the miracle of Hawke’s return to care. 

“But I’m afraid the reason she looks like she hasn’t aged five years...is because she hasn’t,”

“Trust Hawke to have found a way to outlive everyone...” Varric says, half as a joke and half as a serious inquiry.

“It’s not like that. Time moves differently in the Fade, it reflects our world but it doesn’t adhere to its rules,” Anders motions his hands emphatically, drawing images in the air with his fingers. “A mere second there could mean a lifetime here. Or it could  _ also _ mean a day trapped in the Fade equates to a month passing in Thedas. In Hawke’s case…it seems she’s experienced only hours, while we’ve mourned her for five years,”

“So, when the veil was torn. It brought Hawke to our current time?”

Anders looks amazed at Fenris. “Precisely! She probably believes she’s been gone an afternoon. It’ll be up to you to explain things to her. You need to be ready to handle that, the shock might be too much,”

“Is there anything else?” 

Anders ponders, his tired gaze trailing over to Hawke. The mage had been up for hours since Hawke’s head hit the floor; they didn’t waste time with exchanging reliefs that he survived. He went straight to work on healing her. Even though Fenris’s mind screamed at him to stop Anders from waving his hands over her, the same hands that yielded the barbaric magic that blew up the chantry, he refrained. Hawke trusted him once, and it had been no secret the mage was devoted to Hawke. Even now, when he can’t be sure Hawke will even be glad to see him, he helps her. Could be setting up his demise - his own damn murder - if Hawke bears no forgiveness in her heart. But that was another matter.

Fenris watches as his fingers gingerly stroke her steel armour in a gentle fashion. His heat twinges at the affection. He’s about to say something when Anders seems to catch himself, relinquishes his hand and nods quickly.

“I am worried about the side effects from her having entered the Fade physically. That and the effects of going toe to toe with a demon that no doubt prayed on her fears and spared no mercy on details. I don’t know if her body is going to...catch up with us? It seems like if that was the case, it would have altered her already by now.

“This is Hawke we’re talking about. She’s been through weirder shit than this,” Varric says petulantly, folding his arms over his chest. “Five sovereigns says she was wakes up and walks it off,”

“Varric, she’s been trapped in the fade physically. And not just the fade, she was stuck in the raw fade!”

“So was I!” He snaps. “I’m fine!”

“For five years!”

“Wasn’t it you who just said she hasn’t experienced five years!?”

“That’s not- _ We are not getting into that argument” _

_ “You really capture their likenesses, didn’t you?” _

The third voice comes from the bed. Fenris snaps his neck, witnessing Hawke’s eyes slowly open tiredley. It’s her morning voice, low and smooth. It’s harmonious to his ears and it grips him by the heart. He holds her hand tightly, running his thumb over her skin to lure her awake. “Hawke?” 

Hawke smiles, and he thought he would be overjoyed to have her smile at him once again. He didn’t realise how much he cherished that crooked smile till it was taken from him. But in the disc of her grin lurks something uneasy. As if she’s faking it, a kind of sharp, hate-filled polite smile you would begrudge to someone you despised while in front of company...

Something inside of him tells him to let go of her hand and back away. But before he can, Hawke springs from the bed and in a swift motion she’s got him pinned against the wall  _ hard.  _ Her fingers are digging into his throat like she’s prying into a fruit, as she holds him there the position is harrowingly familiar. Fenris tries to push her on instinct….until he feels something sharp prick his abdomen. 

Anders and Varric have backed off slowly with their hands raised when they see the knife. It seems no one knows what to do, no one knows whether to grab her or reach for their own weapons less they wind up like him, or rile her up further that they might as well have pushed the dagger into him themselves.

“I said...” Hawke bitterly hums with a sadistic chuckle rumbling from deep within. “You really capture their likeness? Don’t you?  _ Or you think you do,” _

“Hawke, please! What are you-” His words are clamped shut. The grip on his neck abruptly tightens, blocking his airways. And what’s more, her fingers are seeping fire into his skin. Smoke bridles outwards as he gaps and writhes against the burning. _ “M-Marian… _

“Hawke you're hurting him!” Anders calls out as Fenris squirms and grabs at Hawke’s arm in a frenzy. Trying to pry them away so he can breath, to stop feeling magic etching it’s way into his skin. But she is relentless. He can see into her soul through her eyes; there is fear, and in her fear there is strength, a burning determination he’s never seen from her before. There is comfort for her from the power she has over him. A reassurance she claims for herself as she dominates him despite her fear...

“Tell your friends I don’t want a single word out of them either!” She snaps maliciously. Her grin is sick and twisted as she tries to mask her worry. And the lit candle on the shelf behind him which reflects in her widened, crazed eyes provides a horrific scene. “You think wearing his face will break me? It won’t, I assure you,  _ you bastard.  _ You’ll pay for imitating him, you’ll pay for trying to use  _ him _ against me. I’ll hurt you so bad you’ll wish the Inquisitor left Stroud here instead!”

“She thinks he’s a demon...” Anders breathes in disbelief. “She thinks she’s still in the fade!” 

And with that all the puzzle pieces fit together. Fenris seethes, but he tries to reach out to her. His fingers lightly brushing her cheek, but she recoils. Scrunches her nose in disgust.

Anders carefully takes a couple of steps towards her but the fear in his eyes does not alleviate Fenris one bit. He’s going to incite her further, like kicking an already manic dog. And his head will pop from all the pressure she’s applying to his throat.

“Hawke, listen to me. You are not in the fade,” Anders tries to reason, speaking slowly and with deliberate clarity. Yet Hawke is staring daggers at Fenris, completely ignoring him. Her stare is as suffocating as her chokehold, drowning him in the complete and utter hate she has reserved for him. 

“You’re home, Hawke. You’re safe and alive and if you don’t believe me you're going to kill the man...the man _ you love,”  _

“Such pretty words,” She retorts, conversation going somewhere Fenris already knows he’s not going to like. “Shame they fall on deaf ear when spouted through cage bars,”

“No, Hawke I-”

“Why Anders hmm? You think talking through him, _ of all people,  _ will make me trust you? You think I want to see him?!  _ And why did you give him a beard?” _

Anders goes quiet, tensing like her cold voice has frozen him on the spot. All he’s done is stall the inevitable.

_ “Fucking demons,” _ She hisses. 

Fenris in that moment sees how time moves like water. It can come speeding in like gushing waves, it can flow smoothly over sunlit rocks in a riverbank. And it can come to halt from winter’s icy kiss. He sees the motion of his lover’s hand unanticipatedly heave upwards. His mind is filled with noise and black fears realised; he sees his reflection in the steel of the jagged dagger that comes bounding down towards his neck-

The sound of a crossbow launches into the still air, string snapping loudly against a fired arrow. The wall is smeared red after an intense thud pounded into the wall next to his ear. In an asudden outbreak comes the harrowing scream of Hawke. Her palm is torn open by the arrowhead, securing her hand to the wall like a shackle.

**_“Move!”_ ** Varric barks. Readying another arrow into the nook.

Fenris on instinct wants to rip the arrow from her palm, but when she wastes no time in grabbing the arrow herself, Fenris throws himself to the floor as she rips it from her flesh and takes a swipe at him with the arrow. He stumbles to his knees, flings himself further back when she strikes at him again. Her hand was pouring blood, draping a crimson river all over the floor as she moved. 

His sword, which had been resting against the chair he sat in as he tended to Hawke, was within arm's reach. Likely having been tossed when Hawke pitched him to the wall. He grabs it, hoping that if she sees him armed she’ll stop.

_ She doesn’t. _

Fenris’s stomach flips as Varric has an arrow ready, aiming down the sights fiercly. Fenris raises his hand. “No! Stop! Don’t!” 

Varric’s courage withers away easily. He snarls through clenched teeth but throws Bianca down. Fenris is sure he wouldn’t have fired anyway.  _ He couldn’t, that is not a strength he has within him. _

Stalking towards him. Hawke is neither smiling nor smug, but now purely afraid. Her eyes are glazed from tears that fall freely. It breaks his heart seeing her so terrified, outnumbered in her false reality. Brainwashed by her own paranoia _ that made him the enemy. _

“Hawke, please! Please! Don’t make me-” He begs her, but he can’t even scream his throat is so sore. She casts a fire spell that dances along the serrated edges of her knife. And just when she’s about to fall on top of him. Just when he’s tilted the tip of his blade towards her stomach…

A furious rush of magic propels her back. A horrific crack is heard as Hawke is thrown into the wall. Her body convulses, her eyes go wide and jaw slack. Finally, Varric’s arrow falls from her hand and onto the floor. And Hawke with it.

Anders is huffing with frantic breaths, his right arm stretched outward, palm flaring with wispy smoke directed at Hawke with a pained expression.  _ “I’m sorry,” _ He whispers.

Fenris rushes to his feet as Varric crashes to his knees next to her. Cradling her head to feel for a pulse, and the breath he and Anders had all been jointly holding gushes out of them as Varric nodded. “She’s breathing,”

“I-I don’t…” His voice is cracked, dribbling out like a dog’s pants as he gravely looks between them and Hawke. Pleading for answers;  _ what do I do? She just tried to kill me _ . He slowly touches his neck, the skin fried and raw from where her magic burned into him and his lyrium markings thrum diligently. As if they could still feel Hawke’s cruel touches, as if she had burned her unkindness into him. Anders cringes in sympathy at the sight of him.

“I...this is my fault,” He confesses. 

“Don’t do this, Blondie. Not now,” Varric dismisses.

“No, I should have expected this! Of course she would think she was still trapped in the fade!” He grates his fingers through his hair. “I should have bloody known! I could have...I could have helped her! Settled her down before she got riled up! I could have-”

“No,” Fenris croaks, ears burning at how weak and pathetic he sounds. But he needs to stop Anders before he gets going. He holds his throat and tries to cough. “Not your fault. Isn’t...anyone’s,”

Anders’s expression clearly conveys he doesn't believe that, not for a second. But the mage lets out a small, weak smile all the same in appreciation. Maybe even a little surprised at his words, or at least whom the words crawl out of. Fenris shocked himself too, but he meant it. This was no one’s fault.

Fenris looks down at Hawke. Her face has returned to a peaceful complexion as she breathes softly through her nose. A red gash forming at the base of her skull, nothing she wouldn’t recover from. But even minor bruises often irked him. 

There is conflict brewing within him between reaching down and carrying her into bed, and storming out the room while he still has the chance. It wasn’t her fault,  _ he knows this.  _ What Anders said was true, had to be. For Hawke to have seen him  _ as the enemy _ ? It sent a shiver down his spine thinking about the moment he was sure his lover would choke the life from him. 

Part of the reason he’s staring at her is in anticipation of her getting up again. He is afraid she will put her magic on him, fearful he won’t escape this time.  _ And it shames him... _

“C’mon, I can heal the burns,” Anders sighs, making a choice for him. He heads for the door, yet when Fenris gives him a pointed look and doesn’t follow, Anders’s shoulders slack as he’s too tired to argue and justify wanting to heal him.  _ Very well,  _ he can cut him some slack. He had the opportunity already to let him die.

“Lead on,”

“Varric, she’ll be out cold for a while. I suggest you leave too, lock the door behind you. We can’t get any further with this until she wakes up,” Anders advises solemnly.

Varric is reluctant at first, and it seems as though he’s going to argue with Anders. But the whole ordeal has drained him thoroughly, so he complies. He shrugs off his coat and folds it into a pillow. Gently resting Hawke’s head along it as he follows them out the door….

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
